


From the Beginning

by Maracuya



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Heartache, Romance, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5644813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the SanSan Fest 2015 on Livejournal<br/>The prompt: For reasons that don't involve war, Ned & co. visit Casterly Rock. They stop at Clegane Keep on the way (broken axle? lame horse?) and Sansa (aged up) meets Sandor (aged down) before he's scarred. An impression is made. She doesn't see him again until he comes to Winterfell and events continue per canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starbird1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbird1/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own anything and I'd never try to make any profit from this. All the credits go to Grrm.

Sansa was sitting with her mother and baby Arya on a cart at the head of the travelling party, and the girl looked with round eyes into the world. It was the first time that she was leaving Winterfell for a longer period of time, and it was a real adventure. Her father and Robb were riding at their side, Robb on his first pony.

“Look!” Sansa called and pointed. “Another field! Why do they have so many fields here? Why don't they have more trees?”

Her father pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Yeeees. Field after field after field. How very exciting. Look Sansa, after the last winter we need more food. And the people here in the West grow more food on their fields than we do. That's why we must come here and ask for help.”

Sansa put her index finger into her mouth.

“Whyyy?” she asked.

“Because we must ask Lord Lannister if he can give us some of his food.”

“Is he a nice lord? Will he give us food?”

Sansa's father coughed into his fist.

“We're travelling all together to visit him to show what an important lord he is. I think chances are better this way he'll give us food.”

Sansa creased her brow and didn't quite understand. She put her thumb into her mouth and started to suckle on it. Her mother pulled her hand away from her lips.

“Sansa, you want to be a good lady, don't you? A lady doesn't suckle on her finger. Now, Sansa, do you remember where we're going?”

Sansa forgot about her thumb, because she could answer her question, grinned triumphantly and crowed: “Yes! We're going to Catcherly Rots!”

Robb started to laugh at her side from atop his pony.

“Nooo! It's Casterly Rock, stupid. ROCK. Like stone.”

Sansa knitted her brows and pushed up her lower lip.

Her brother went on: “Casterly Rock is a fantastic castle. It's on a hill right at the sea, and there's a big town, not like Winter Town. People are living there all the time, and there are many ships in the harbour. That must be soooo great!”

Sansa looked at her father.

“Is it really a beautiful castle?”

Her father growled into his beard: “If you don't count its residents.”

That caused Sansa to raise her eyebrows and to stick her finger into her mouth again. Her mother pulled her hand away a second time. Then, she pressed her own fingers onto her swollen belly.

“Are you all right, Cat?” Sansa's father asked his wife. “I've told you this trip isn't good for you in your condition.”

“Oh Ned, but you know how Lord Tywin needs to have his ego massaged. And his pride. It's important we're accompanying you. I feel a bit uncomfortable, but we'll be at the Rock soon, and the lions' maester can look after me there.”

Lord Stark pressed his lips together and nodded curtly.

Robb cut in at that: “Do they have real lions at Casterly Rock? Jory has told me so.”

“And Jory is right, boy. But they're caged, because they're very dangerous, and I don't think we'll see them.”

Robb pouted at that, but Sansa, who didn't know exactly what a lion was, only felt she didn't want to see a dangerous animal anyway.

Suddenly, her mother gasped, convulsed at her side, squealed and pressed baby Arya into Sansa's arms.

Within a second, Lord Stark was at his wife's side.

“Cat, what is it?”

“The baby!” Sansa's mother moaned. “It's coming.”

Sansa's eyes grew big, and she kept a tight grip on her little sister, although the baby was heavy for her. She sensed it was important now to help her mother and to be a good elder sister for Arya.

“Cat, are you sure?” Lord Stark asked, his face turning white. “We're still too far away from the Rock.”

“How could I possibly be japing about such a thing!?” his wife snapped.

“All right, all right, Cat. What do we do now?” Sansa's father mused, rubbing his face. “Wait! If I'm not mistaken, there's a keep. Perhaps an hour from here. This should be Clegane territory.”

Sansa understood that they'd be going to some keep now, because her mother was about to give birth to a baby. Oh! How exciting that was! She'd have another baby brother or baby sister soon.

Speaking of “baby sister”: Arya reacted to her mother's discomfort and made some squalling noises. Sansa realised her mother wouldn't be happy about a crying child, because she was in so much pain herself, so Sansa started to sing a nursery rhyme for Arya:

“The direwolf is in the wood,

the direwolf is fierce and good.

He's stronger than the winter snow,

and still warm when the north winds blow.

The direwolf is with his pack

and has got thick fur on his back.

A direwolf can howl and bark –

the rightful sigil of a Stark.”

Arya started to calm down.

The same could not be said of their mother. She started to scream more and more often, and tears were running down her cheeks. Her husband was at her side all the time and tried support and to appease her.

After a time that felt horribly long for Sansa, they finally arrived at a nobleman's keep. Clegane Keep, she learned. The local lord – a tall, dark-haired man with a soft chin – greeted them nervously and led Sansa's mother inside. Her father disappeared together with his wife and two or three women from the entourage. Someone took Arya out of Sansa's arms, and Sansa sighed in relief.

Jory arrived and asked Robb if he wanted to spar a little with him; and the boy was enthusiastic about the idea at once.

Somehow, Sansa suddenly found herself alone. And free to get to know the keep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The building itself was nowhere near as big as Winterfell, that much Sansa could say, but it was still much, much more impressive than the simple houses in Winter Town. However, there were so many excited people swarming around, and she didn't want to be in the way, or to be shoved around – and besides, the steps were pretty high for a girl like her. So she decided to look around outside.

To be sure, there were the stables, but many people from the travelling party were milling around there, too; and the horses were sooo big, and Sansa didn't want to get kicked.

“Perhaps I can find a back door to the kitchen,” Sansa thought. “And maybe they've got lemon cakes.”

The girl smiled, and with new resolution, she strutted off.

On her way, she passed another structure outside and recognised from something similar back at Winterfell what it was: the kennels with the hunting dogs. She also noticed a dark-haired woman standing there alone and looking at the animals, instead of the travellers at the keep's entrance.

When Sansa came closer, the person turned, looked at her and frowned.

“Oh! That's not a woman,” Sansa thought. “And it's not a man. It's a boy with long hair. But ooohh, he's sooo tall! Almost like father!”

The boy rumbled: “Who are you? And where do you come from? Are you one of the Northerners?”

Sansa nodded and put her index finger into her mouth, too shy to say something. She hoped the boy wouldn't be mean to her. He looked really strong.

“Where's your mother?” the youngster said.

Sansa pointed with her free hand to the keep.

The boy growled: “Bloody stupid not to keep an eye on you; but there's such a frenzied chicken dance going on there you can also stay here with me for a moment until things have calmed down. What's your name?”

Flushing crimson, Sansa mumbled around her finger: “Fanfa.”

“Aha,” the boy answered. “I'm Sandor. How old are you?”

Sansa held up three fingers first, then another one and said: “Next moon, my mother says.”

Sandor stared at her with dark eyes, and Sansa looked to the ground.

“You can already count to four and speak in such a pretty tone? Whoa, you're clever for your age. Anyway. Want to see some dogs? Some pups? We've got a bitch with a litter that's only two days old.”

Sansa's eyes started to sparkle.

“You mean little doggie babies? Oh yessss!”

The corners of Sandor's mouth curled upwards. He pointed with his head.

“Come then.”

Two minutes later, they were inside the kennels, hunched on the ground, and Sansa was petting a creamy-coloured bitch and her four little pups.

“They're so sweet!” Sansa called out, mesmerised. “And their mother is lovely, too.”

The bitch licked Sansa's hands in response and made her giggle.

Sandor answered: “Delsa is a good bitch. Very kind, but fierce when it comes to hunting. This is her third litter. The pups don't have names yet. Do you want to name them?”

Sansa's eyes widened.

“I can name them? Really? Oooh, you're so nice!”

There was another ghost of a smile on Sandor's lips.

Sansa looked at a pup, which had a creamy fur like its mother, but it was patched with black. She pointed.

“Do you like Dottie?”

Sandor nodded.

“Good choice. And the sibling that looks almost the same?”

Sansa put her finger into her mouth once more. Then, she had an idea.

“Lottie! Dottie and Lottie it is.”

Sandor chuckled.

“You've got a way with words. I could have never come up with such names at your age. And the red and the black pup?”

Sansa furrowed her brow.

“Hmmm...,” she made. “Look at our hair. They look like us together. What about our names?”

Sandor snorted.

“Better not. We're no siblings. And people wouldn't understand.”

Sansa chewed on her lip. At that point, her eyes were caught by a fluttering movement above the kennels. She looked and saw two birds. That gave her an idea.

“Robin and Raven. Is that better?”

Sandor's eyebrows went up, and he nodded.

“A little singing bird and a cawing big one? I like that,” he said. “A lot.”

Sansa turned and embraced Sandor.

“You're much nicer than Theon and the other boys at Winterfell. Why?”

Sandor fidgeted and coughed.

“Erm. I don't know this Theon or the others. It's just... I think you remind me of my sister.”

Sansa blinked and looked up at Sandor.

“Oh! You've got a sister? Where is she?”

Sandor's face become very sad then.

“She's dead.”

Sansa didn't understand. So Sandor tried to explain.

“It means she's gone forever. And she can never come back.”

In answer to that, Sansa uttered a tiny squeak. She couldn't imagine Robb or Arya to simply disappear and to never come back.

“I'm so sorry, Sandor,” she said, stood in front of the kneeling boy, wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

She thought it felt nice. The youngster blushed.

“Sandor?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“Do you have any more brothers or sisters? I've got a big brother, you know?”

The boy pressed his jaws together on hearing the question.

He ground out: “Yes. Got a bloody big brother, too. A really big one, I mean. Only he's not as nice as yours must be. He doesn't live here anymore and is squiring for another lord. Which is better, because he's so very mean. I'm happier without him.”

“Oh...,” Sansa peeped and felt even sadder for this dark-haired, tall boy.

She thought of what she could do to cheer Sandor up, because he looked so very gloomy.

“You know what, Sandor? I'll marry you then when I'm grown up. I promise I'll make you happy every day,” she said with all the seriousness a girl at her age could come up with.

Sansa was delighted to see that she caused Sandor to grin again.

“Aaaah, who knows?” he said. “You like dogs. Especially little pups. People have had worse starting points.”

Sansa giggled and snuggled up against Sandor, because she had seen their parents do that.

But Sandor retreated a bit.

“Whoa, easy now, little lady. You're still a bit young for that. But here, you can cuddle little Dottie, how about that?”

Not understanding the reaction, Sansa was a tad disappointed, but took the pup readily.

She chattered: “We can have little babies, too, when we're married. My mother is having a baby now, too, you know?”

Sandor wrinkled his brow.

“And who is your mother?”

That confused Sansa.

“My mother is my mother. The women took her inside.”

Sandor's eyes widened.

“What did you say your name is?”

Sansa was even more flustered.

“Do you forget things like Old Nan? I'm Sansa.”

Sandor answered: “Not Fanfa, but Sansa? Sansa Stark?”

She nodded.

“Mhm.”

Sandor rubbed his face.

“In that case, little Lady Sansa, I fear we can't marry.”

“What!? Why?” Sansa quacked.

Sandor sighed.

“I'm only the second son of a minor lord. Your parents won't think I'm not good enough for you and won't let you marry me.”

Scandalised, Sansa stamped her foot.

“My parents love me. And they'll like you. Of course they'll let me marry you, you'll see!”

Sandor sighed.

“They'll want to find someone better for you than me. They'll look for a high lord, or even for a prince. I'm not a prince.”

Sansa pouted.

“If you're no prince I don't want to marry a prince.”

Sandor smiled, but his eyes looked sad, Sansa found. He booped her nose.

“Come here now, Lady Sansa. Let's take you to the house. People will be looking for you, I'm sure. Lord Stark's daughter can't simply walk around freely like a kitchen wench's bastard.”

Sansa didn't understand.

“You mean like Jon?”

Sandor shrugged.

“If the Jon you're talking about is a bastard – yes.”

The tall boy took the pup, put it back to the litter, then held her by the arm and led her back to the front of the keep.

There, the man Sansa recognised as Lord Clegane and Jory approached them with energetic strides. On recognising the children, the former man looked as if he had swallowed a thunderstorm while relief was written all over Jory's features.

“Here you are, boy! How dare you hide Lord Stark's daughter? We've been frantic with fear!” bellowed Lord Clegane.

Sandor, tall as he already was, ducked, started to say: “But father...”

WHACK! WHACK!

Sandor spun around from the heavy blows, his lip and nose bleeding instantly, and Sansa screamed.

“Noooo! No! Sandor's been nice to me,” she wailed.

Jory grabbed her.

“There, there, Lady Sansa. We've been worried something might have happened to you. The lord's son can't simply keep you from us without telling anyone where you are.”

While Sansa was dragged off the scene she sobbed: “He was nice to me! Really nice, Jory. He showed me some little pups in the kennels.”

Jory stiffened.

“You cannot take away pups from their mother, Lady Sansa. You could have been bitten, had she wanted to protect her litter from an unknown intruder. That was irresponsible.”

Sansa cried: “It wasn't dangerous. Sandor let me name the pups.”

But Jory simply said: “Whatever. You're back now, and we'll keep an eye on you. Your high father is already worried enough about you're lady mother's labour. There's no need to trouble him even more, understood? Now be a good little lady and play with Robb.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After this incident, Sansa was kept inside, in a room on the first floor, and she had no chance to see Sandor again. She wept and hoped her friend was all right. She was also angry about the unfair treatment. In the distance, she heard her mother's screams, and those frightened her, too.

At some point, Sansa fell asleep. The exhausting journey was taking it's toll. When she woke up again, she cried and asked for food. A maid servant brought her what she needed – and a chamber pot, too. She helped Sansa to get along with it.

Meanwhile, they cries of labour came to an end.

Sansa asked the servant: “Is my little sister there? Or my baby brother?”

“I'll go and see, Lady Sansa,” the young woman said.

She left, but didn't come back. It looked as if Sansa was forgotten.

After two hours, Robb came in with a huge grin on his face.

“What is it?” Sansa wanted to know at once.

Robb frowned.

“Haven't they told you? We've got a little brother! Mother and father want to call him Bran.”

“Ooooh!” Sansa made and was thrilled at once. “Can I see him?”

Robb shook his head.

“I want to see him, too, but we can't go. Jory says they're all tired after the birth, mother and the baby. They must recover for some hours or so. But everyone is fine.”

Since she wouldn't get to know her little brother any time soon, Sansa wanted to go and find Sandor. However, she wasn't allowed to meet him again. Neither did she get a chance to go outside. That made her both sad and restless.

She tried to play with Robb for a while, but her older brother grew bored with her soon enough. Sansa also tried to play with Arya, but her sister was still too young. Sansa had some dolls, too, of course, and she used them, but they weren't fun without a friend like Jeyne.

So when the door finally opened and Lord Stark came in Sansa nearly exploded and threw herself into his arms.

“Father! Robb says we've got a baby brother now?”

Lord Stark smiled and ruffled her hair.

“Yes, little lemon cake. And he's healthy and very sweet. Your mother is fine, too.”

Sansa clapped her hands, beamed and bounced up and down.

“Can I see them?”

Lord Stark yawned.

“Tomorrow. It's been all very exhausting for everyone. And your mother and the baby will be staying here for the week with some women so both can recover. The rest of us will travel on to Casterly Rock tomorrow. Lord Lannister is waiting.”

Sansa felt a sting in her chest.

“Can I stay with mother a little longer? And I also want to play with Sandor again.”

Her father raised an eyebrow.

“Which Sandor?”

“Sandor from here. The one with the dogs.”

“Do you mean the lord's son?”

Sansa nodded avidly and grinned.

She also asked: “He's sooo nice – can I marry him when I'm grown up?”

Lord Stark coughed at that, then ruffled her hair again.

“We'll find you a nice husband when you're grown up, little lemon cake. I promise. Perhaps even a prince. Would you like to become a princess or even a queen one day?”

Sansa scowled at her father and remembered what Sandor had said about how her parents wouldn't let them marry.

“Sandor isn't a prince.”

Lord Stark nodded.

“No, he isn't.”

“Then I don't want to become a princess. Or a queen,” Sansa said with vehemence.

Her father looked startled for a moment.

Then, he smiled, but Sansa thought he only smiled with his mouth, not with his eyes.

“Well, there's still a lot of time until we'll get to your marriage, Sansa. And now let's join Robb for dinner downstairs in the hall.”

Sansa pushed up her lower lip.

“Sandor was right,” she thought and felt bad. “Perhaps I can see him in the hall downstairs. Father must see us together. I want no prince.”

With quick steps she tried to follow her father on her short legs as best she could.

To her immense frustration, Sandor wasn't on the dais. She walked up to Lord Clegane and tugged the hem of his doublet.

The man looked down at her and smiled, but Sansa didn't feel like smiling.

“Good evening, Lady Sansa.”

“Where's Sandor?” she asked.

The lord's smile faltered.

He answered: “Sandor is ill and must stay in bed. But let's eat now. Look, everything is laid out on the table for you and your father.”

At that moment, Lord Stark interfered: “Sansa, a lady doesn't pull on the clothes of someone else. Come here to your seat. – Apologies, Lord Clegane.”

“Oh, it's nothing,” Sandor's father answered, smiled and waved his hand, but Sansa didn't like the man.

She wouldn't have known why, but she thought the man was lying, and that Sandor wasn't ill. Sadly, there was nothing she could do for the time being.

Later, at night, she wrenched the door of her chamber open and wanted to find her friend – but she ran into a Clegane guard, and the man brought her back to her room. Sansa wept angry tears then. Why was everyone against her playing with a friend?

“What can I do?” she thought.

Then, she had an idea. She grabbed into her bundle and opened her room door again. The guard was still there.

Sansa thought of her mother and how she made people do what she wanted them to do. She stood very straight.

“I'm Lady Sansa,” she said. “I know I mustn't run away. So you must do something for me.”

The man's eyebrows went up.

“And that is?” As an afterthought, he added: “Lady Sansa.”

The girl held up a stuffed direwolf, one of her favourite toys.

“Take this to Sandor. The lord says he's ill. I want him to be well soon.”

The man took the stuffed animal and stared at it.

“Erm,” he said, undecided.

Never before had Sansa tried to behave like this, but she pressed her little fists on her hips like she had seen her mother do it.

“I'm a lady. Lady Sansa. You're a guard. And nobody can say anything against Wolfi.”

The man scratched his nose.

“All right,” he finally conceded grudgingly. “Looks almost like a dog. There can't be any harm in it. But you stay inside, little lady. I'm back in a moment.”

Sansa felt even lonelier without her stuffed direwolf than she had done already, and she wept into her cushion, but at the same time, she thought she had done something right.

She also remembered Maester Luwin, back in Winterfell, and how they always played a little game. Sansa had to tell him what she had learned on a day, and if her answers were good, she got a little treat. There would be no sweets on this day, and Maester Luwin wasn't there either, but Sansa wanted to play the game nevertheless.

She murmured: “What have I learned today? People can smile when they're not really happy. My father will not allow me to marry who I want. And people do what a lady wants, so I must become a good lady, and perhaps I can marry Sandor then.”

Sansa wondered if her conclusions would have earned her a treat in Winterfell. But what stuck with her most was that she had to try to become a lady.

In the morning, Sansa was allowed to visit her mother and little Bran after a quick breakfast in her own room. The baby was sweet and Sansa loved it at once.

In the meantime, all the people started to pack their things. Sansa would so have loved to stay behind with her mother, but she had no saying in the matter.

When they were all in the yard and slowly moving out of Clegane keep Lord Clegane was there to see them off, but Sandor was not. Sansa was so sad about it, but at least she knew he had her direwolf, and they could still meet again on the way back. She looked at her father, who was riding next to her once more. He was looking ahead, deep in thoughts.

“He doesn't like it here,” Sansa thought. Her heart became heavy.“He doesn't want to come back when we go home...”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	2. Chapter 2

TEN YEARS LATER

Winterfell had been aflutter ever since they had received the news that King Robert Baratheon intended to visit them. Everyone was nervous, but Sansa's father was obviously also looking forward to his childhood friend very much. Sansa could understand that. After all, they hadn't met for years.

When the travelling party arrived, Sansa looked at the riders and saw a very handsome, impressive, fair-haired man on horseback and asked whether this was the king. It earned her a chuckle from Jory.

“No, no, that's the Kingslayer, Ser Jaime Lannister. A member of the King's Guard. One of the best sword fighters in the realm, and the queen's brother. Look over there, that's King Robert. And that's his son, Crown Prince Joffrey.”

Sansa could barely believe the fat man Jory referred to was supposed to be the king, because he lacked royal splendour. In contrast to that, the prince looked far more pleasing to the eye. With his fair hair he came after the Lannister family, no doubt about that. Sansa hoped he'd make a fine king one day, that he'd be somebody she could look up to.

The greeting between Lord Stark and his monarch was a jovial one on Robert's part, but the queen and Sansa's mother eyed each other more coolly, Sansa noticed and asked herself why this was the case. Queen Cersei was the most beautiful woman Sansa had ever seen, and she radiated all the splendour her husband lacked.

After the welcoming procedure, Sansa saw her father and King Robert disappear into the direction of the crypts. Of course, the old friends had a lot to talk about and wanted to have some privacy, so a quiet place like the crypts was an adequate choice.

Meanwhile, Sansa looked around. The southron elegance of the courtiers impressed her mightily, and she hoped she'd be able to see the capital one day.

Next, she turned to Prince Joffrey and his siblings and was about to start a polite conversation, like a good lady was supposed to do... when her eyes fell upon a huge, heavily-muscled man with long, dark hair. He was in knight's armour and wearing a helmet that looked like a snarling dog. Sansa stopped dead in her tracks. Half of the man's face was scarred in the most horrible way: garish, oozing red fissures, pocked with crates, and an ear was missing, too. Even a bit of bone was showing at the jaw. The man approached the prince.

Joffrey noticed Sansa's stare, turned to see what or who she was looking at, turned back and grinned.

“Ah, Lady Sansa, so you're impressed by my dog? And what a formidable, fearsome dog he is, my personal shield, Sandor Clegane. But not a beautiful sight for a maid, that's for sure.”

Memories from her earliest infancy washed up in Sansa's mind.

“Bran's birth... our visit to the Westerlands... pups in the kennel...SANDOR! Gods be good, what has happened to him!?”

Sandor Clegane reached them and gazed at Sansa with contempt in his eyes. She thought she'd be angry, too, if a prince introduced her to someone else with such impolite words.

“Lady Sansa,” he growled and looked away.

It was weird to hear how dark and harsh his voice had become with adulthood, like a saw grinding on stone.

Sansa stepped forward.

“Don't you remember me?” she simply asked the prince's sworn shield.

Prince Joffrey raised his brows.

“You know my dog?”

And Sandor's eyes flickered back to her. He blinked.

“You remember ME, Lady Sansa?”

Tall and fearsome as he was, there was suddenly a strangely vulnerable air about the tall man. That was the exact moment when Sansa's heart opened wide. She had mostly forgotten her stay at Casterly Rock, had only retained a blurred memory of the rolling sounds of the sea and the look of some cold, green eyes flecked with gold, but all the other details were gone. In contrast to that, she had never forgotten the tall boy from Clegane Keep. She hadn't learned what had become of him – but now, he was standing there, right in front of her! The gods had brought them together once more, of that she was convinced.

Sansa didn't think any further than that, forgot everything and everyone around her, forgot even the man's scars... she was three and a half again, jumped, wrapped her arms around his neck, clung to him for dear life, pressed herself flush against him, kissed his good cheek and called: “I've found you!”

Sandor stiffened, but did nothing else.

Suddenly, strong hands pulled Sansa away from Sandor. It was Jory. His eyes were very wide.

At the same time, Lady Stark hissed: “Sansa! How dare you! This is the most shameful display! And such a thing coming from you, of all people!”

Sansa came back to her senses and saw everyone gape at her like carps on land: her siblings, the queen, the princes and princess, the southron courtiers. She flushed scarlet. At the same time, however, she knew she wouldn't let them tear her away and keep them from Sandor again.

So she stood very straight and said: “Sandor was good to me when I was a little child, back when we stayed at Clegane Keep. It was then that I promised to marry him, and the gods have seen it fit to bring us together again. This way, I can keep my promise.”

Her mother turned as white as marble, and there were squeaks and wild murmurs flaring up from the crowd. The queen even started to snicker into her hand; from one moment to the next, she looked mightily entertained.

Sandor's eyes simply flickered back and forth between the queen, Sansa's mother and Sansa herself. His shoulders were tense, but he still didn't do anything.

“He's surprised and confused himself,” Sansa thought. “Just like me. And perhaps self-conscious, too.”

After a moment, Lady Stark told Jory: “Take her inside.”

And Jory obeyed. Sansa didn't fight him since she wasn't wild like Arya, and the matter she had to settle wasn't with him. Her mother followed them after some minutes, likely after she had left the queen and the courtiers in a situation where it would be acceptable for the Lady of Winterfell to disappear.

Sansa was already waiting in her room, sitting and hands clasped. Her heart was hammering, but she was convinced of her stance and tried to stay calm.

The same could not be said about her mother. She approached Sansa and cuffed her ears. Twice. Sansa's head rang from the blows, and she couldn't believe she had really been struck.

“Sansa, you've brought the greatest shame upon us! I cannot even begin to grasp the impropriety of your disgusting display.”

“When I was a child, Sandor told me people wouldn't find him good enough for me. That I wouldn't be allowed to marry him. How honest he was,” Sansa thought.

Worse than that, she realised that there would be only two alternatives now: either Sandor was raised above his station... or she had to make her way down to him. She swallowed, then squared her shoulders.

“Should I have shown him my feelings in secret, mother? I don't think it would be more honourable to behave like that.”

Lady Stark gaped at her as if her daughter had grown a second head.

“How dare you speak like that to me, Sansa? HOW DARE YOU!? To throw yourself at a lowly, ruthless ruffian of a killer in public, the second son of a minor house, and a Lannister lackey at that! In front of the queen and the royal family, no less. Cersei may be married to Robert Baratheon, but she is and remains a Lannister, and make no mistake.”

Sansa blinked and didn't understand.

So her mother rambled on: “She wants us to be humbled, and your behaviour is all grist to her mill. By your selfishness you've brought shame upon the Stark name. Even your siblings' future may suffer because of what you have done. You've not thought of that, have you?”

That caused Sansa tow swallow hard. She had really not thought of any possible repercussions for her siblings, but at the same time, she couldn't see how it could possibly be so bad for Robb or Arya if she married Sandor Clegane.

Her mother gave her no chance to speak up again.

“And now, Sansa, you'll stay in your room until you're fetched, and when you show yourself in public again I want you to be as meek as a lamb, to apologise for your shameful behaviour, and to submit yourself to your father's better wisdom. He'll decide what will happen to you.”

After those words, Lady Stark left the room with billowing skirts.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Some hours went by, and Sansa didn't know what was happening. She felt as if she had molten lead in her stomach. It would have been a relief to have Lady at her side, but her direwolf was locked up in the Godswood.

At some point, several handmaidens appeared and dressed her in different clothes.

“Are they preparing me for the banquet?” she thought.

When she was ready, Jory appeared, his jaws set. He guided her to her father's solar. So no banquet. At least not yet.

The door opened, and Sansa entered. Inside were her parents, and the king and the queen besides. Sansa's heart fluttered madly; she wished Sandor had been there, too, but by the look of it that hope turned out to be futile.

“They're keeping us apart again, like they did back at Clegane Keep,” she thought.

The queen smiled at her, and Sansa would have been glad, had it not looked like the smile of Sandor's father: it didn't reach the eyes. Perhaps Sansa's mother was right about her assessment of Queen Cersei.

The other three people in the room didn't even try to smile. Sansa knelt in front of the king. It was the proper thing to do.

“Rise, Lady Sansa,” the monarch said.

So she stood up again.

“Sansa,” Lord Stark spoke, “your mother has told me of your scandalous behaviour.”

She stood still and didn't move, because she didn't know how to react.

Her father drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair and looked ten years older.

“Sansa, you've got no idea what you've done to our family. While I was down in the crypts with King Robert we agreed upon a marriage between you and Prince Joffrey. You could have had a chance to become the Queen of Westeros one day. It would have been the greatest possible honour. But after the way you've thrown yourself at the crown prince's lowly sworn shield in public such a match is out of the question. You have humiliated us in the face of the Seven Kingdoms! And in front of the king, too. What's more: the king has asked me to become his Hand. But how could I be a Hand now? I'm supposed to control Westeros in Robert's name – yet, the people will ask themselves how I could possibly do that if I cannot even control my eldest daughter.”

Sansa's cheeks flushed red. She had had no idea that such plans had been in the air!

The king sighed darkly.

“Lady Sansa, what do you say to this?”

Sansa knelt again.

“Your Grace, I didn't know about this. I can see what a great honour it would have been, and all I can do is to apologise. I never meant to slight you. My father has always talked about you in the kindest words, and all I can say is that he's your most loyal friend. He'd never go against your command and feels obliged to serve you well.”

“Pfft, that's a girl parroting what she's been told,” the queen cut in and addressed Sansa next. “What I'm interested in is what you think about Sandor Clegane. You must have known you're far above his station – and yet, you approached him in such an unladylike way.”

The king rolled his eyes.

“The girl speaks truly about her father, Cersei, and you know it. But you're right for once: I want to know more about the whole back story, too.”

Sansa's complexion turned to crimson.

“Your Grace, I got to know Sandor Clegane when I was a little child. It was during a trip to the Westerlands.”

“I remember,” Cersei interrupted them again. “Father sent me a raven with a report about it. He was content with the bargain he reached with Lord Stark, though he remarked he wasn't accustomed to so many little children.”

Lady Stark looked as if she wanted to comment on these words, but kept quiet, and her face was stony.

So the king asked Sansa: “I've been told that back in the courtyard, you mentioned a match between yourself and Sandor Clegane. Is that true?”

Sansa licked her lips.

“I told him as a girl that I wanted to marry him.”

“And did Ned – I mean: your father – know about this?”

Sansa realised she had to tread carefully now.

“Father was busy with my mother giving birth to my brother Bran. His mind was elsewhere. Even if I mentioned my plans I'm sure he wouldn't have taken them seriously. He must have thought it a little child's whim – but I was serious about it. And still am.”

The king breathed in and poured himself a goblet of wine. Her parents sat there as if they had swallowed a broomstick, and it looked as if his father's hands were close to wrenching his armrests apart.

Queen Cersei asked: “Lady Sansa, didn't you realise that your parents wouldn't approve of such a match?”

Sansa swallowed hard.

“As a little child, I didn't know about such things, because I was still too young. And when I saw Sandor again...”

Her mother gulped at the usage of the warrior's first name.

“... I forgot about everything else, because I was so surprised and so overjoyed to see him.”

“So you've got feelings for my son's sworn shield?” the king asked.

“Robert, she's too young for such things,” Sansa's father cut in. “She's too young to know true love.”

The king snorted.

“She wasn't too young to embrace and to kiss Clegane in public. – Now, Lady Sansa, answer me truly.”

Sansa nodded hectically.

“Your Grace, I had the chance to get to know your son in the courtyard, and I'm convinced that he must be a fine prince, so I would have been honoured by such a match, I swear. It's just... I don't know why... but even as a little child I knew Sandor would be the one for me. And I still feel this way. I'm sure you can understand this, Your Grace?”

The queen laughed at that.

“Canines go together well, by the look of it.”

“Silence, woman!” the king thundered, and Sansa winced.

Lady Stark buried her face in her hands.

The king knitted his brows.

“What does Clegane think?” he asked.

Sansa bit her lips.

After a moment, she answered: “We had no chance to talk about this, and he was very surprised when we met again, just like myself. But I think he's fond of me.”

“Fond of your station,” Sansa's mother hissed.

Sansa shook her head at that.

“I... I don't think he's such a sort of man,” she ventured.

“Clueless child!” her father rumbled, a thunderstorm in his eyes.

“Actually,” the king said, “your daughter might speak truly. I've known the man for years. He's a menace on the battlefield, and he's proud of it, proud of his reputation and of what he's achieved. At the same time, he's probably the only one who has never asked me to do him a favour, and he's no lackey who licks anyone's boots, from what I've seen. Too outspoken to be diplomatic. I shall ask him, Ned.”

The jaws of Sansa's father worked.

“Clegane!” King Robert hollered.

Within a heartbeat, the door opened, and the tall warrior entered.

“He must have been waiting in front of the door,” Sansa thought, and her heart fluttered.

Sandor's eyes fell first on her, then on his sovereign, but his features remained inexpressive. He walked up to Sansa's side and knelt.

“Rise, Clegane,” the king ordered.

“Your Grace.”

Like in the courtyard, Sandor's dark, grating voice sent warm shivers up and down Sansa's spine.

“Clegane,” the king went on. “Lady Sansa has confirmed her feelings for you and has told us of your childhood encounter. But what about you? Would you want to have her?”

Sansa thought that Sandor's breathing deepened, but the man was wearing chainmail, so it was difficult to tell.

“Which warm-blooded man would not want to have her?” Sandor asked back in a deadpan tone.

The king actually chuckled at that.

“Now that's true. So I take it you'd like to marry Lady Sansa?”

Sandor cleared his throat.

“Does it matter? I know Lord and Lady Stark don't approve of me.”

Sansa's mother bristled at the candid words.

And Lord Stark said to Sansa: “You see? He speaks sensibly.”

Sansa knew she should cave in now and respect her father's words, but the inevitable consequences of it made her desperate.

So she replied: “If he speaks sensibly, it makes him more eligible, doesn't it?”

Lady Stark gasped in horror, and Sansa's father didn't fare any better.

The queen laughed anew while the king pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Ned, I know Clegane isn't the husband you would have wanted for Sansa. Hell, I can understand you, but the damage is done. Who else would want your daughter now? Only someone who cares about her claim, not her feelings. Reminds me of Lyanna and how she was abducted. Let's minimise the whole problem. We've got more children we can match up after all. – Clegane, you've served my wife's family and my son well. Me, too. So I'll give you a lordship, and Sansa and you can marry.”

Lord Stark stood up abruptly. His face was grey.

“Robert, you may treat Clegane however you like. You're the king and it's your choice – but Sansa is my daughter, and I cannot accept a man like him in my family. And neither could the other Northern lords.”

Sansa didn't understand what “a man like him” could possibly mean. Nor was she ready to grasp the implications of her father's words.

Lord Stark went on, now addressing her directly: “Sansa. As I've just said: the Northern lords wouldn't accept Clegane. Never ever. I've got three sons, so the line of succession should be safe, but Winter is Coming, and one never knows. Apart from that, such a marriage would undermine my position as overlord and weaken Robb's future influence. So this is what I must tell you: it's your choice. If you decide to marry Sandor Clegane, despite knowing all these implications, you have to leave Winterfell, and it means that you're cutting off all ties with the Stark family.”

“Nooo!” Sansa exclaimed, tears starting to stream down her face. “Don't make me choose!”

“Ned, is this wise?” the king asked.

Lady Stark uttered a strangled sob, and Queen Cersei's eyes sparkled.

Sandor spoke up, though he hung his head: “Sansa, I wouldn't want you to become estranged from your family. You'd hate me for it.”

Sansa turned to him and embraced the tall warrior. She could smell his scent and feel his warmth, despite the chainmail.

“I'd never hate you! Never!” she cried and pressed her face against him.

Sandor gingerly put his arms around her, as if he didn't know whether this was the right thing to do.

“So that's your choice?” Lord Stark asked, and his voice was raw.

Sansa looked up and saw a single tear on her father's cheek.

She repeated: “Don't make me choose! Father, I love you and mother and Arya, Bran and Rickon... and even Jon and Theon. Why can I not love you all, Sandor included? I've always known I'd have to leave Winterfell one day to get married. Then why exclude me from the family completely?”

Eddard Stark's fists clenched and unclenched. He turned to his childhood friend.

“Take good care of my girl then when she travels south. May I take my leave?”

“I'll take care of her,” Sandor pointed out.

The king sighed and shook his head.

“Oh Ned, Ned, Ned. The gods know I'm no scholar, but if I know anything it's that this... Anyway, what about you becoming my Hand? I need you.”

Sansa sobbed against Sandor's chest, and she felt his calloused hands in her hair.

After a moment, she heard her father's answer: “Robert, please... I can't come to King's Landing now. Not right now. Not after all of this... Find an interim man, I beg you. Ask me again in a year's time from now.”

The king rubbed his beard.

“A year from now? Shit, that's difficult, Ned. Let's at least decide on another match then. What about your Arya and my Tommen? This way, we make sure your younger daughter gets a good match, and it'll strengthen your position again. You bring her to King's Landing in a year's time for the betrothal. What do you say?”

Sansa didn't hear her father answer and kept burying her face against Sandor's chest. Since the king said no more Sansa guessed her father had nodded, but she didn't really care. She heard her parents leave, and Queen Cersei rose, too. The king remained behind.

“Clegane,” he said and sounded tired. “We'll have to talk about your lordship. And Lady Sansa... don't grieve too much. Your father is shocked now, but he'll come to his senses. And I'll make you Myrcella's companion. The Seven know you can both need a friend.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	3. Chapter 3

They married some hours later in the Godswood. The direwolves were there, and Lady, first and foremost. However, Sansa's parents and siblings remained absent – with the exception of Jon. As a bastard, nobody cared whether he attended the ceremony or not. He also lead Sansa to the Heart Tree. Sansa took the chance to hug him close and to apologise for not having been a better sister in the past.

Jon made a dismissive gesture and looked away.

“Never mind,” he murmured.

Next, he showed her a half smile.

“At least we'll part on better terms. You must write me when I'm at the Wall and tell me of your life in the capital.”

“And you must tell me of your life with the Night's Watch!” Sansa replied and felt more warmth for Jon than she had ever done in her life.

Interestingly, the commoners from Winterfell had gathered in the Godswood when the ceremony began: Maester Luwin, who took the role of a septon for once and who wed Sansa and Sandor, Old Nan, Mikken, Hodor, Jory, Jeyne and all the others. There was lots of whispering in the air, and people shot her and Sandor incredulous looks, but nobody dared to interfere or to prevent the wedding.

Sansa couldn't help but weep all the time. Sandor's scarred face was overcast, and a cloud of gloominess hovered above his head while he spoke his vows. Sansa kept hiccuping, but otherwise, her voice didn't falter.

The cloak Sandor draped around her shoulders lacked all kind of embroidery and wasn't even in the typical Clegane colours. When all was done, he pressed a quick kiss onto her lips.

And that was it. Maester Luwin declared them husband and wife, and Sansa had become Lady Clegane.

She dried her tears as best she could, looked up... and suddenly spotted Arya peek around a bush. Oh, sweet, unruly Arya! Her little sister had disobeyed her parents to witness Sansa's wedding. Sansa shot her the briefest smile and looked back at Sandor, so as not to give Arya away. Yet, a spark in her bridegroom's eyes told her he had noticed the younger Stark daughter, too. Sansa smiled, cried some more and pressed her face against Sandor's chest.

The people scattered after everyone had given her a present; Jon handed her a leather armband with a little knife in a sheath.

“From Arya and me,” he said. “This can be worn in a sleeve. I know you don't like violence, but you might want to protect yourself at some point. Who knows how dangerous King's Landing is.”

Sandor nodded appreciatively and led Sansa back to Winterfell.

There would be no feast. Of course not.

When Jory had given her a little carved box as a wedding present, he hadn't been able to look her in the eyes and had said: “Lady San... Lady Clegane... I fear I must tell you you're not welcome in the Great Hall anymore. I'm sorry.”

Sansa couldn't hold it against Jory as he was only the messenger of bad news, but the words increased her heartache, if that was still possible.

When Sansa and Sandor entered the guest room that would serve as their nuptial chamber, Sandor sagged onto the edge of the bed and glowered at her. A moment later, he jumped up again, produced a small item from a pocket and pressed it into her hand.

“My sister's necklace. Got no other present. Wait here. I'm back in a few minutes.”

Confused, Sansa watched her bridegroom disappear through the door. She didn't know what to do.

For the first time, she thought of the impending wedding night and became nervous. Before, she had thought of her family, of the changes in her life... but not about the bedding.

“Normally, mother should have told me what I have to do...”, she thought, and her eyes filled with tears again. “Shall I undress or not? I'm sure Sandor will try to be gentle with me, but I wish I could help him with this duty.”

True to his words, Sandor returned after a few minutes. He was carrying a basket with food and a casket of wine.

“Come here,” he said. “No feast, but let's have some food and drink.”

Sansa could only eat a few morsels.

“Why did you choose me?” Sandor suddenly asked, sombre.

Sansa's eyebrows rose.

“Didn't you hear what I told the king?” she asked.

Sandor snorted.

“We barely know each other.”

“But,” Sansa spluttered, “but you said you wanted me!?”

Sandor laughed, but it sounded bitter.

“Ha! Of course I'd want you. Who'd not want someone so beautiful? Someone so gentle? But what about me? I'm just Prince Joffrey's scarred dog. A mangy cur. I cannot offer you much, not a high-born girl like you. I know how to kill an enemy on the battlefield, and that's all I am: a fighting machine. And now, you've lost your family because of me. How can you still want me after that?”

Sansa's eyes widened. It was true: she knew little about Sandor. Yet, she refused to see him the way he saw himself. How could he think of himself so lowly?

Sansa rose and though he stared at her with stormy eyes, she dared to cup his cheek. On instinct, he pressed his head into her hand. Sansa could smell his scent again and realised she could recognise it by now. She found she liked that.

The next moment, however, Sandor withdrew and poured her a tankard of wine.

“Drink,” he told her. “Let's forget our sorrow and our doubts tonight. It's the best we can do in this situation.”

Sansa sniffed at the wine. It was Dornish sour. Not exactly what she liked, but she obeyed her bridegroom and took a big gulp. They drank in silence.

After the second tankard, she felt light-headed, and the world became a blur around her. The day's sorrows receded. After the fourth tankard, Sansa couldn't sit straight anymore.

She noticed Sandor take her onto his arms and place her onto the bed.

“Shank you,” she slurred and somehow managed to give him a kiss on his cheek.

She giggled and noticed Sandor open the laces of her dress. Sansa wiggled to help him pull it over her head. Now, she was only wearing her shift and her smallclothes anymore.

Sandor rose from the bed and started to divest his own clothes. Sansa shut her droopy eyes, yawned and snuggled under the furs, which were already warming to her body.

A few moments later, she felt the mattress sag under her bridegroom's massive body. He was still wearing a tunic and his small clothes. And he was comfortably warm. Sansa leaned herself against him, and when he put his arms around her she felt utterly cosy.

“Mmmmmh,” she purred.

“Good?”

“Like a bird in a nesht,” she answered.

Sandor chuckled.

“A tipsy little bird. Better for you not to try to fly tonight.”

Sansa mumbled something she couldn't understand herself. Her mind became fuzzier with each heartbeat. She felt Sandor's fingers comb through her hair and relaxed even more. It was the last thing she remembered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, she awoke in an empty bed, and her head felt as if big bells were ringing in it.

“Gnnnn...,” she uttered and opened her eyes.

For a moment, she was confused that she wasn't in her own room, but she remembered the previous day within the blink of an eye.

“Oh! I'm married! And where is Sandor?” she thought.

Sansa looked about her and discovered a blotch of congealed blood on the linen. That caused her heart to beat faster. She tried to remember what had happened during the wedding night, but she couldn't get beyond them getting undressed and lying down.

“Something must have happened... only I don't feel any different. Gods, I was so drunk! I hope I didn't do anything wrong. Could Sandor be angry with me, or why has he already left?”

Sansa was nervous, and the memories of her parents' repudiation did nothing to improve her mood. After some minutes, she felt strong enough to get up and to use the chamber pot. Next, she washed and dressed as best she could without a maid.

At that point, she heard heavy steps in the corridor. A moment later, the door opened and Sandor entered.

“Already up and about, little bird? How do you feel?”

“I've got a hangover,” Sansa admitted.

Sandor chuckled.

“Me too. No wonder. We were boozhounds last night.”

Sansa's heart fluttered.

“And everything else was... all right?”

Sandor shrugged.

“As far as circumstances allowed – why, yes, of course.”

Sansa didn't know what to make of that, but she nodded nevertheless.

“Have you been up for a long time, Sandor?”

Her husband shrugged a second time.

“I'm a soldier. I've got a routine.”

Sansa looked at his arm, and her eyes widened.

“And you've got a cut. You're hurt!”

Sandor turned his arm and looked at the wound.

“I'm a warrior, Sansa. I'm getting cut all the time. This is nothing.”

Without further hesitation, he grabbed some of the rests they hadn't eaten during their wedding night, chewed, and turned more serious.

“I've got a chest with your personal belongings, but I didn't bring it here. Looks like the king is packing again. After what's happened he's cutting his visit short and wants to return to King's Landing.”

Sansa's mouth formed a little “o”.

“So soon? I thought he wanted to pass some time with his f...”

She trailed off.

Sandor nodded.

“That was the plan. But it doesn't look like there will be much merriment here any time soon. Nothing for a jolly man like the king.”

Sansa swallowed. It was all happening too fast!

Sandor took her chin and made her look up at him.

“Little bird, I think it's probably for the best. Since you're not welcome here anymore, a swift farewell may spare you some pain. If only we could leave the bloody Imp behind, too, as it was originally planned, but the king has made him his interim Hand.”

Tears welled up in Sansa's eyes again, though she nodded and tried to be sensible. She remembered Tyrion Lannister from the previous day; Jory had pointed him out to her and had told her that the short man was called “the Imp”; just now, Sansa had little interest for him having become the Hand, because her grief was at the forefront of her mind.

“There's something else,” Sandor let go of her and went on: “The queen asks you to accompany her and Myrcella in her travelling wagon today.”

He looked as if he had bitten into a lemon.

“Oh,” Sansa peeped.

Sandor forced her chin up a second time.

“Be careful around the queen, little bird. You may chirp a lot, but do say little, if you get my meaning.”

Sansa remembered how Cersei had laughed the day before. It hadn't been well-meaning, that much she gathered.

“I'll try to heed your words as best I can,” she said.

“Good girl,” Sandor growled.

Suddenly, a frightening thought struck Sansa.

“Lady! My direwolf! I cannot leave her here!”

Sandor knitted his brows.

“Are you sure? I don't think the capital is the right place for direwolves.”

Sansa grabbed Sandor's arm.

“She's a very gentle and well-behaved wolf. Please!”

Sandor breathed in and out.

“Like her mistress, you mean? Hmmm... she didn't disturb our wedding yesterday, and she's a bit smaller than the other wolves. It just might work...”

Sansa jumped and threw her arms around her husband's neck.

“Thank you so much!” she sobbed.

“There, there,” Sandor growled awkwardly. “Can't rob you of the only true friend you may have in King's Landing, can I?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	4. Chapter 4

The farewell was heartbreaking for Sansa. It was also short. Lord Stark, his wife and the remaining children had already said goodbye to the king and his family in the Great Hall. Only the Warden of the North emerged into the courtyard, but he didn't approach Sansa... and Sansa didn't dare to go and hug her father.

Jon, however, was there again, and he and Sansa embraced like they had never done before.

“I'll miss you all!” Sansa cried.

“I'll miss you, too, as well as the others, once I'm at the Wall,” Jon replied.

He added: “There's something I shall tell you from Arya: 'I'm your pack.' And: 'See to it that Tommen gets a fire kindled under his arse, or I'll run away and marry someone else, too.'”

That caused Sansa to laugh, though tears of sorrow were streaming down her cheeks.

“I'll look forward to the reunion with her in about twelve moons from now. And I hope I'll see you again one day as well. Just... why are those siblings I've not been so close to in the past those who are dearest to me now?”

Jon smiled.

“You were well-adapted before, while Arya and myself were not. Now, things have changed for you.”

Sansa nodded and thought how stupid and shallow she had been.

Finally, she entered the queen's closed wagon. Though she wasn't a good rider she'd have preferred to be at Sandor's and Lady's side, but she had no choice. It was an honour to travel with the queen. And when she rolled out of Winterfell she wondered whether it wasn't better she couldn't turn at her old home and look back all the time.

Myrcella, who was with her mother, turned out to be friendly and intelligent. Soon enough, the two girls were chatting together, and the princess told her all sorts of things about the capital. That distracted Sansa from her heartache.

Until the queen interrupted them, that was.

Cersei began in a saccharine voice: “Lady Clegane, I'm delighted to see you so lively today. Especially after your... wedding night.”

Sansa blushed and answered: “Thank you for your consideration, Your Grace. I'm so grateful I'm allowed to travel with you and the princess. It makes the start into my new life so much easier.”

The queen lifted an eyebrow.

“That's good to hear. Now... perhaps you're willing to enlighten us curious ladies. We all know how tall your Lord Husband is. Which inevitably leads us to the question whether he is so big... everywhere.”

Sansa understood that the queen had to be referring to matters of the marriage bed, but didn't grasp the specifics. Still, she blushed bright red.

After a cough, she stammered: “Why... yes, of course. When he embraced me I could simply feel him... everywhere.”

That sent the noble ladies, who were also with them, chittering.

The queen's eyes sparkled.

“I seeee... It's good then that you're not forced to ride today, isn't it?”

The ladies giggled, and Sansa looked to the wagon floor in embarrassment, though she didn't understand the innuendo.

Meanwhile, the queen rummaged in a box and produced a little glass with a cream in it.

“Here, Lady Clegane, take this balm from me. It's good for the sore spots between your thighs.”

Sansa's eyes widened in confusion. What sore spots was the queen hinting at?

Aloud, she said: “I... erm... thank you so much. I didn't know about such a kind of balm.”

The queen chuckled.

“So your mother didn't prepare you? Ah, what a pity. In that case, you must have had quite the shock last night. I must laud your stamina then. After all, well-founded rumour has it your husband has only had harlots before and surely doesn't know a thing about how to seduce and to enter a high-born maid. – Oh, how thoughtless of me. I apologise. Of course, you wouldn't want to hear about your husband's whoring right after the wedding night.”

The ladies in the wagon chittered some more. Sansa felt as if someone had stabbed her.

And the queen still wasn't done with her.

“So... did it hurt a lot? And how did he go about it? Did he take you from behind like a dog? I could imagine he wouldn't want you to look at his face, what with all his ugly scars.”

The ladies craned their necks so as not to miss a single sound. Sansa whimpered and pulled in her head.

Next, she murmured: “I... he held me in his arms. And we had drunk wine before. I was very tipsy and didn't think much. And I fell asleep soon.”

The queen looked as if she had discovered the sweetest treat.

“Ahh, yes, wine. The classical option to make a maid willing. No surprise there. But who'd have thought the Hound would put such an emphasis on... physical proximity. Ah, be that as it may. If you two go on like that, you'll whelp your husband's cross-breeds before you can count twelve moons.”

The ladies laughed. At least Myrcella rolled her eyes behind her mother's back, which was a small consolation; still, Sansa felt lonely and ashamed and could barely wait for the trek to make camp in the evening.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

At nightfall, Sansa nearly sobbed in relief when she was allowed to take her leave from the queen. She dashed through the throng of bustling people.

Lady – who was dusty from the road – found her first, yipped, grinned at her, tongue lolling out, and looked the epitome of contentedness.

“Here you are!” Sansa called and laughed. “And it looks like you've had a good day.”

Lady licked her hands and jumped around her like a filly who was on the meadow for the very first time.

“Your direwolf is as clueless as she's happy,” a dark voice growled at Sansa from behind, causing Sansa's stomach to somersault.

She spun around.

“Sandor!”

Within the blink of an eye, she was hanging around his neck.

“What a clinging little bird you are,” Sandor rumbled, but he didn't look angry. “Did you have a good time?”

Sansa bit her lip.

Next, she offered: “I was in the queen's company.”

Her strategic answer caused Sandor to throw back his head and to bark his laughter.

“Now look at this! There are still wonders in the world. The Hound's discovering something akin to humour,” another male voice commented next to them.

Sansa let go of Sandor's neck and turned around. She recognised it was Ser Jaime Lannister, the queen's brother, who had spoken. At once, she knitted her brow and wondered how her husband would react.

Sandor snorted.

“Why are you so sure my humour hasn't simply been too subtle for you to detect so far?”

Ser Jaime laughed.

“Begging pardon, Clegane, but if you're subtle I'm a redhead like your wife.”

Sandor retaliated: “In that case, maybe my humour is developing, because my immediate surroundings have become far more inspiring of late.”

The fair-haired knight grinned.

“Well-played, Clegane, well-played. – My lady, I must warn you: if you go on to influence your husband like this, he'll turn into a real danger. For you or the realm or both.”

To her own surprise, Sansa felt audacious and answered: “At least I chose to be endangered by this man.”

No sooner had she said this when her ears caught fire again. What on earth was going on with her of late?

Ser Jaime slapped his thigh.

“Clegane, I've got a feeling I'll have lots of fun to watch you two from afar in the near future. I thought your wife looked like a trout, but she does have a bit of a wolf inside of her.”

At that moment, Lady yipped, leaving the queen's brother with tears of mirth in his eyes.

“Whohoo, what a canine society! All right, see you tomorrow,” he chuckled, waved, and walked away.

Sansa and Sandor followed the disappearing fair-haired knight with their eyes.

“Did that man swallow a jester for breakfast?” Sansa asked under her breath.

Sandor murmured back at her: “I swear, one day, his tongue will gallop ahead so his body won't be able to follow, and then, he'll be as mute as Ser Ilyn Payne, the king's Justice. Though when it comes to unnerving quips, his short-legged brother is even worse, take my word on it. Arrogant bunch of Lannisters. But these two men are at least not as naturally vitriolic as their sister.”

That, in it's turn, caused Sansa to remember the queen's acid interrogation some hours prior.

“Sandor?”

“Yes?”

“Can you embrace me? Please?”

Her husband blinked and looked as if she had grown a second head. After a moment, however, he obliged and wrapped his arms around her. Sansa felt his warm breath against her ear, inhaled his scent and thought she had ants in her belly.

“What did the queen do to you?” Sandor mumbled into her ear.

Sansa looked up at him, though it was difficult, because a rage was smouldering in his slate-coloured eyes.

“Nothing a kiss couldn't cure,” Sansa tried to appease him.

Her words didn't have the effect she had hoped for. Suddenly, Sandor's eyes were as bright as if a furnace was roaring inside his body. Her husband's calloused fingers trailed her lips, and Sansa gulped.

“Fuck, I'm not a patient man, little bird, but I'll have to come back to this later. For now, I still have got some duties to do. For example to erect our tent. Before something else can be erect.”

Sansa was embarrassed.

“Oh, how stupid of me! Of course you've got to do many things. Please forgive me. And if I can help you...?”

Sandor grinned at her, and Sansa thought her knees would buckle under her.

“Take care of Lady. Look! She's already shamelessly begging for meat all around the camp. If you don't stop her, her charms will be her doom, and she'll grow fat and round.”

Sansa giggled, turned, and chased after her direwolf. She thought that this was the first carefree moment since she had married.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The tents of the royal camp were soon erected and food was dealt out. The king required Sandor's presence in the royal tent, so Sansa and Lady ate their dinner alone in front of their own one. Sansa was glad about the wolf at her side, because nobody else paid her attention. A wave of homesickness and longing washed over Sansa, and she thought that without Lady she would have felt even worse.

“I'd be so enjoying myself, were I travelling to King's Landing under different circumstances. With mother and father and my brothers and sister.”

A long-forgotten memory of her visit to the Westerlands resurfaced. Sansa recollected a sunny day at the beach near Casterly Rock. She had found a particularly beautiful shell and had given it to her mother.

“King's Landing is close to the seaside, too,” she thought and wiped her cheek. “At the Blackwater Bay. I'll go and see if I can find a nice shell for Sandor there. Although... will he like something so simple? But what else could I give him to show him my fondness?”

Sansa's hand rose to the necklace she was wearing. His sister's jewellery – Sandor's wedding present for her.

“I must try to be worthy of such a generous gift,” she resolved.

After the meal, she yawned and entered the tent. The day's travelling was taking its toll, and she asked herself how Sandor was able to ride all day and to have enough energy left to help erecting tents and to look after the prince.

Sansa slipped into the bedroll, and Lady lay down next to her. Within minutes, Sansa was fast asleep.

At some point, she heard Sandor's grating voice say: “Wolf, that's my place. Don't you want to go hunting? Would do you good. Take a long stroll in the dark. But don't frighten either the horses or the sentries.”

Lady rose indeed and left the tent, like the good wolf she was.

Sansa rolled around and mumbled: “Sandor?”

“And a very good evening to you, too, little bird. Been dreaming of me? Ah, I fear not.”

“Can't remember,” Sansa yawned and noticed Sandor put off his mail shirt and the sword at his hip.

Next came the two thuds of his boots, and after another few moments, Sansa noticed her husband lie down at her side.

“That's a big bedroll you've got,” she murmured.

“Just what a man of my size needs. Enough for two smaller people. Want to come over?”

Sandor's voice sounded teasing, but Sansa didn't understand why he should try to tease her. Although she blushed in the darkness she thought that he was her husband and his question was supposed to be a normal one.

“Sure,” she simply said and meant it.

Sansa thought she heard him utter a stifled gasp when she left her bedroll and realigned at his side.

“Mmmm,” Sansa murmured against her husband's broad chest and felt better than she had done all day. “You're so tall and warm everywhere.”

“More than warm somewhere if you go on like that,” Sandor commented in a sarcastic undertone, but Sansa didn't understand what he was referring to, so she didn't react to the allusion.

“Can I have a little good-night kiss?” she asked.

Sandor uttered a strangled noise.

“Are you sure?”

Sansa knitted her brows.

“Why – of course.”

After a silent pause, Sandor laid his lips onto hers, and Sansa was surprised that a man his size could be so gentle. With a hand, she combed through his long, lank strands of hair.

Her husband uttered a sound that was an odd mix between a growl and a whine. Abruptly, he pulled away from her and turned around in his bedroll.

“Good night, Sansa. This has been a long day, I'm tired, and tomorrow won't be any easier. Let's get some sleep.”

There was a strange edge to Sandor's voice, and Sansa asked herself why he was facing away from her. She'd so liked his kiss and felt disappointed.

Yet, she also saw wisdom in his words. So she pressed a quick peck on the nape of his neck, which caused her husband to give a little start.

“Good night then,” Sansa said.

“Night,” Sandor answered.

Sansa's mind blurred again, tired as she was. Before she dozed off completely, she noticed Sandor make some weird movements with his hands under the blanket, but she didn't give it any further thought and drifted off into the realms of sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Her nostrils quivered. The rustling fallen leaves were soft under her paws, and she spotted the sentry from afar, despite the darkness. The portly, middle-aged man was sitting next to a crackling camp fire, apparently taking things easy and talking to a servant.

She passed the two, staying in the shadows, and they never knew she had been so near. Outside the camp, the grass smelled sweet, and she found the scent of a deer crossing. With her nose tracking the fragrance she followed the pass for a while, but was distracted when she came across a fat rabbit. The animal had no chance, and she wolfed it down with great delight. While the food at the camp was both plentiful and delicious this hunt was satisfying in a different way.

Licking her muzzle when she was done, she padded back to the tents and avoided the sentry once more. When she passed a soldier's tent, she stopped dead in her tracks, because she heard some strange noises. She moved to the entrance of the flimsy construction and found it open. The musky human stench in the tent caused her to wrinkle her nose. That aside, the light of another merry camp fire shone in, so she could see what was going on inside easily enough with her animal eyes.

There were a common soldier and a woman on the floor of the tent. They were half naked, the man kneeling behind the woman, who was was on all fours like a wolf – and the man was pumping into the woman's most private opening. Both gasped and moaned, but seemingly not from pain. They were both covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The man's appendage appeared and disappeared, and the whole process became wilder by the moment. Still, the woman asked for more, and her exposed breasts bounced in the cool night's air. In the end, a whitish fluid shot out of the man's appendage.

At the opening of the tent, she stood glued to the spot and watched the spectacle, never having witnessed such a thing, but when she saw the soldier's final reaction, she darted off into the night. Better for her to go and see whether she could wrangle some sort of delicacy off a man at a camp fire. A piece of meat that didn't look like a sausage, preferably.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sansa opened her eyes and squeaked.

“What is it, little bird?”

Sandor was awake at once, like the good warrior he was.

“I...,” Sansa stammered. “Nothing. Just a dream.”

“Ah,” Sandor made. “I understand.”

“Do you have weird dreams, too?” Sansa asked, still pressing a hand on her pounding chest.

“Worse than just weird,” her husband answered in a sombre tone.

“What are they about?” Sansa asked.

“Fire,” was all the answer she got.

Sansa gulped. In the dark, she reached out and took her husband's hand.

After a long silence, Sandor said: “You're the only one who looks at me, not just at my scars.”

“I can remember you from before you got them. And you're more than just some scars.”

Sandor snorted.

“If you think so you're an exception, best believe that. The bloody high-born bigwigs need my sword, and the reputation of my ferocity, nothing else. So they don't see beyond that either. And you are what other people see in you.”

At that, Sansa placed her head on his shoulder.

“I see a good man in you.”

Sandor stiffened.

“You must have a problem with either your eyes or your head then... or both. But I'll be the last one to complain about it.”

Sansa kissed him, and he wrapped his arms around her.

Ooooh, he tasted sweet! Never before had she kissed or been kissed with lingering lips, and she thought that not even the best lemon cakes could compare to this.

After some minutes, however, Sandor drew back like he had done earlier.

“I could eat you up, little bird, but we have to be fit on the morrow. Have you been invited into the queen's wagon again?”

Sansa shook hear head.

“No, but I'm not disappointed. I'll be all right. Lady can stay at my side tomorrow.”

Sandor noddod.

“Better that way. She charmed the king today when she accompanied me at the front of the trek. If she goes on like that the queen will only turn jealous. Tomorrow, you must ride at the end of the first third of the travelling party. That's not where Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell would be, but it's the right place for Lady Clegane. Make sure you're wearing a shawl over your face so you won't be breathing in all the dust kicked up from the street.”

“Thanks for the tip, Sandor,” Sansa said. “Good night then. I think I've calmed down a little.”

“Fine. Sleep well, little bird.”

To be honest, Sansa had exaggerated: after her husband's kisses, she was still more excited than she'd wanted to admit to herself, and both the memories of her utterly indecent dream and Sandor's delicious personal scent did nothing to help her fall asleep again easily. It took her quite a while until she managed to doze off.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next day, Sansa was grateful for her husband's advice. She had been allowed to take a gentle mare from Winterfell with her. The animal named Tassel was already old, but that served Sansa well enough, because she wouldn't have wanted a young, fiery animal. The horse even tolerated Lady at her side without any problem, in contrast to many other animals around her.

Sansa was riding in a group of lesser noblemen and women. They all knew who she was and kept their distance. Her only contact was Coyle, Sandor's squire. The pockmarked boy was the bastard of a local lord and wouldn't have been accepted into the honourable position by a high-born man. Coyle was a taciturn lad, like his master. He turned up when it was necessary without raising much attraction and quickly and efficiently did what had to be done.

Sandor found Coyle agreeable enough, and clever besides.

“He's got both muscles and brains, that one. In other words: I could have got a worse squire.”

What was good for Sandor, however, was less pleasant for Sansa. She would have liked to chat to the lad, who was about the same age like her, but Coyle only gave her clipped answers to direct questions, and that was about it.

At least, there was Lady who cheered her up. Sansa thought her wolf was flourishing here, in the open.

“She likes Sandor, and she's got a chance to see something new. I'm so happy for her,” Sansa thought.

The same couldn't be said about herself, but she was grateful she didn't have to travel in the queen's presence anymore. One day in the wagon had been more than enough.

Towards the evening, Sansa's legs and her bottom were sore from riding, and she suffered from cramps and pain in her back. Never before had she been on horseback for so long. It frightened her: after all, this was only the beginning of their trip to King's Landing!

The evening unfolded pretty much along the same lines like the evening before. The tents were erected, they ate dinner, and Sandor slid into their bedroll much later. What was different was that he had droopy eyelids and yawned.

“The prince has been bloody irksome today,” her husband said and fell asleep before he could offer an explanation.

After that, the journey went pretty much on the same way every day. There were alterations when they rested at an inn. Of course, the royal family would occupy so many rooms then that most other people still had to sleep outside in their tents.

Once, Sansa and Sandor got a little chamber in an inn at the crossing of two roads, and it was like a feast for Sansa after so many nights in bedrolls. Sandor was glad, too, though he needed a chair at the end of the bed, because it was too short for him.

Sansa took the opportunity and cuddled with her husband thoroughly. She noticed he hadn't stayed with the others in the common room, but had come over to her instead. They shared a huge tankard of ale, and a big platter of food. Afterwards, Sansa felt tipsy, but not as much as she had done on her wedding night.

The alcohol made her audacious, and she didn't only kiss Sandor, but she also nibbled on his slightly burned lip. When they were alone, they kissed a lot, though not in public, because Sansa knew her husband wanted to maintain his reputation of being a harsh man. In private, though, things were different.

Still – this sort of kiss was new for Sansa, and she didn't know what whim had caused her to nibble on his mouth. Sandor, in his turn, reacted on instinct, and suddenly, his tongue darted into Sansa's mouth.

Sansa squeaked and winced, and Sandor pulled back again right away. Like he did so often, he turned away from her afterwards and recommended to go to sleep. This sort of behaviour was increasingly frustrating for Sansa, because she wanted him to face her some more, but she didn't dare to speak up against him.

What made things worse was her impression that they probably weren't acting like a normal married couple. Ever since the queen's interrogation in her wagon and Sansa's dream about the lovers in the tent did she have the strangest feeling that more should happen between spouses than it was happening between Sandor and herself. Especially the weird scene of the man and the woman in the tent had raised more questions than it had answered.

True enough, they touched and kissed a lot, far more than she suspected the king and queen to do. She and Sandor also slept together, pressed flush against each other – but nothing more happened, and she strongly suspected it should be different. Sure, Sansa sometimes got a chance to see a bit more of Sandor's body when he washed or changed his clothes, but she had never seen him naked... nor had he seen her. She wasn't sure whether that was normal or not, but she had to confess she was getting more curious about her husband's strong, muscled, well-defined body by the day.

The dream of the outrageous activities in the tent had set something in motion within her she couldn't quite grasp. She was ashamed of her dream, yet, it also fascinated her in the oddest possible way; the memories of it sometimes caused her to quiver, deep down in her core.

Besides, she sometimes overheard the chatter of other married women. Now that they considered her wedded and bedded, they didn't stop talking about salacious things when she passed them. Sometimes, Sansa couldn't make head or tail of their words, but what she could still gather was that Sandor didn't treat her like that.

“These women don't behave like true ladies. To talk about such things! And perhaps their men's morals are dubious, too,” Sansa thought. “I wonder whether other men do such things while Sandor doesn't need them, so that he doesn't ask me... But if he did – would it be disgusting, or would it be nice?”

Sansa also thought of the queen's statement with regard to Sandor's alleged whoring, but she dismissed the words as vitriolic gossip. No, she didn't believe a single word. If only the mere idea didn't sting the way it did...

There were other things Sansa certainly wanted to know. Details about her husband, his life, his family, his work. How he had got his scars.

The problem was that Sandor had to do extra shifts, now that they were travelling on the road. And when he came back to her, he was tired. Dog tired, literally.

“Things will become better when we're back in King's Landing, little bird. I'll have a bit more time for you then,” Sandor said one evening in between kisses.

“It's all right,” Sansa answered, though it wasn't perfectly true. “I'm looking forward to passing more time with you. Will you show me King's Landing, too?”

“The capital isn't a safe place for a little bird – but with me at your side, it's possible to visit the town. There are some interesting places I could show you. The old Dragon Pit, the Sept of Baelor, just to name two.”

“Ooh, I'd love to see the sept!” Sansa pointed out.

Sandor snorted.

“Why am I not surprised? But don't you expect me to pray. I don't keep any gods. For me, the sept is just a construction with seven corners for a dog to piss in.”

“Sandor!” Sansa exclaimed, aghast.

Her husband chortled.

“Shocked by your coarse, blasphemous husband? Well, it's what you've bargained for. Too late to hand me back. And no chance to turn me into a pious man.”

“What about your wedding vows then? Aren't they worth anything?” Sansa asked.

Sandor turned serious then.

“I didn't speak those vows for any gods – but I spoke them for you. You're the only divine thing or person that has ever entered my life.”

That night, Sansa fell asleep with a heavy heart – and an arm around the middle of her husband, so as to stay at his side all night long. And forever.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The landscape changed, and the temperature rose with every day they travelled southwards. They were already in the Crownlands when something happened that took Sansa's and Sandor's relationship to a new level.

They were sharing Sandor's big bedroll, like always. When Sansa had fallen asleep, her husband had been facing away from her, like he always did, once he declared their good-night kissing to be over.

But when Sansa awoke around the hour of the wolf, Sandor had turned around in his sleep and was embracing her for once. That in itself was a pleasant experience. Then, Sansa noticed something hard press against the inside of her thigh. It took her a moment until her drowsy brain came up with the realization of what she was feeling – but when she did, she gulped.

“God's that's Sandor's... Sandor's... private parts! And they're... he's in the same state like the man in the tent!”

Sansa's ears became warm, no, hot.

What should she do?

She was only wearing a thin shift, like usually; and Sandor had his tunic and his smallclothes – not much fabric between them. Not at all.

“If he's got these needs, perhaps I should try to meet them. I'm his wife after all,” Sansa thought, but she was still insecure on how to proceed.

After a minute or so, she tentatively pressed her backside against the bulge in question.

“Mmmm...,” Sandor growled in response, still more than half asleep. “Little bird...”

He sounded hungry somehow.

“He wants more,” Sansa deduced.

She rubbed herself against him again and was as cautious as before.

Sandor had already been holding her, but now, his grip became firmer, and he ground himself against her on instinct.

Sansa swallowed. This sort of touching was doing some odd things to her own body.

Another little rub on her part.

Sandor growled again. One of his legs pressed between her legs, and she could feel his hardness right against her womanhood.

She fought a squeak that threatened to escape from her lips. Her mind became fuzzy, and apart from her ears, which felt as if they were on fire, the rest of her body started to heat up as well.

Sansa didn't understand it: was this what she had dreamed of? But no, in the dream, the body contact had been even more direct. There had been no fabric in the way –

“Sansa?” her husband rumbled, waking up.

“Hello,” she peeped.

“What the bloody fuck are you doing?”

Oh oh. That didn't sound good.

Sansa licked her lips and tried to will her palpitating heart to calm down. With little to no success.

“I woke up and noticed you to be in this state... and I thought you might like it if I touched you.”

Sandor cursed, sat up, and Sansa felt even more embarrassed than she had already done.

Her husband grated out: “I'm taking a piss now, and when I come back, everything will be back to normal.”

That confused Sansa.

“So it's not normal for spouses to touch like that? You know I've heard other women talk...”

“Seven hells, those stupid gossips!”

Tears pooled in the corners of Sansa's eyes.

“I thought I'd make you happy that way. I'm sorry for the misunderstanding.”

The next moment, Sandor pinned her down and hovered above her with eyes like burning coals.

He rasped: “No, you're right. Spouses do touch like that – and they go further, actually. The men order the women to spread their legs so they can stick their cocks into the cunts, and the women obey and do their fucking duty.”

He spit out the last word.

Sansa stared at her husband, eyes wide, though she could see little in the darkness.

“Why are you so angry, Sandor?” she asked.

Her husband laughed, but it sounded bitter.

“Too young to understand, aren't you, my pretty little bird? And now I'm off for the piss.”

While he was gone, Sansa's mind and heart were a pandemonium. She couldn't decide whether she was sad, confused, or angry. Ah, it was likely a mixture of all three things if she was honest.

Sleep was out of the question.

So when Sandor came back an hour later, Sansa was still awake. And though she felt uncomfortable to address her husband in a critical way she felt she had to do it. Maybe, it was wasn't ladylike, but she didn't think her husband would mind a fleeting lack of elegance.

“You took a long time,” she said.

Sandor's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“Not asleep, little bird? And nosy? Ah, I can tell you: I needed to get a lot out of my body.”

That was the last straw for Sansa; she was usually gentle and patient, but her husband's tone unsettled her.

“Was there anything you needed to get out of your body you could have put into mine?”

At once, she wanted to clap a hand over her mouth, but the words were out, so she decided to keep her chin up and to not cave in.

There was a moment's pause.

Then, Sandor growled: “Didn't put it into anyone else, if that's what you're insinuating.”

Sansa was taken aback.

“No, I had no such misgivings. Sandor, please, can't we talk openly? We're married. Shouldn't we strive to get along? You mean so much to me.”

Sandor snorted.

“All right then. You say I mean much to you. Well, I can assure you I would change your attitude towards me at once, should I fuck you now. You'd despise me afterwards.”

Sansa blinked.

“What!? No, never!”

“You don't have a clue what you're talking about, little bird. Take my word on it: you'd have some serious issues with me, should I do it with you.”

That cryptic statement left Sansa utterly baffled.

“You're right, Sandor. I don't really understand. But I'd like to. Won't you help me to do so?”

Sandor ran a hand through his lank strands, though Sansa could barely see it, because he had put on no light.

“Have you taken a proper look at me since the day I arrived in Winterfell, Sansa?”

She rolled her eyes.

“What do you want to tell me?”

There was a momentary silence.

Then, Sandor said: “I'm a grown man, and I've got a grown man's needs. They're... far more than you'll be able to satisfy at this point. I'd be too rude with you, too wild. I couldn't control myself, and I'd end up hurting you. But I don't want to do that. And besides... even if you could somehow endure me, I could still give you no enjoyment. I know shit about high-born maidens and women in general. But I could put a baby in your belly... and you could lose it and die in the process. It's what happened to my mother.”

When Sansa heard those words, her anger dissipated like mist on a sunny morning. All she did was to wrap her arms around Sandor.

“He didn't want to neglect me or to slight me. He was worried about me. Aww, he's so sweet! Uh, better don't tell him that. – Oh, and his poor mother,” Sansa thought.

Aloud, she said: “Thanks for your concern. I think I can understand you a bit better now. But I'm convinced you'd never hurt me.”

Sandor pressed his face against her shoulder.

“I'd cut anyone in half who dared to harm a hair on your head, I swear. But you're underestimating the effect you're having on me, little bird, and in the heat of the moment...”

The idea of her having such a strong influence on her husband caused Sansa's heart to beat faster, and there was a warm feeling that spread in her heart.

“Sandor?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Sandor uttered a strangled sound.

“Sansa, oh Sansa, oh my little bird...,” he muttered in a broken voice. “How can you say such a thing? And to me?”

Then, he kissed her, and kissed and kissed and kissed, like a starving man craving water; Sansa could barely breathe anymore. Sandor's tongue was in her mouth, and he crushed her to his massive body. Yet, she wouldn't have wanted it to be any differently. No less intense.

With gentle fingers, she brushed away the salty droplets from her husband's cheek and thought she had never been so happy in her life. Sure, he hadn't said the same words to her, but who needed those, given his reaction?


	6. Chapter 6

After this memorable episode at night, things changed profoundly. Or rather Sandor changed. Granted, he was still a rough man, but there was an underlying serenity about him that stemmed from Sansa's love declaration and that couldn't be overlooked.

The Imp was the first one to comment on the change in Sansa's presence.

“Well, well, well – is the Hound turning into a lapdog? Or even into a starry-eyed maiden?”

Sandor snarled back at him: “Be happy your father is my liege lord and that your sister my queen, or I'd show you how much of a maiden or a lapdog I am. Jealous I've found me a wife, and a good one at that?”

Some knights fooled themselves into believing they could mock Sandor – yet, it cost each one dearly. Several lost some teeth, or suffered from black eyes. One even had a broken rib. Ser Jaime Lannister teased Sandor in a training fight and lamented about a sprained ankle afterwards. As a consequence, the queen called Sandor to the carpet, but from what Sansa noticed, Sandor let Queen Cersei's words go in one ear and out the other.

King Robert didn't hold back on the latest development either, though Sansa heard it only via the gossip of the other courtiers: “A regular fuck in the marriage bed seems to do you well, Clegane. Have you already sired a child on your wife?”

Rumours about Prince Joffrey's reactions were far worse in Sansa's eyes. He wanted to know details about the bedding process – details that revealed Joffrey hoped Sansa had to suffer a lot. That caused her to see the crown prince in a much more negative light than back in Winterfell.

In a quiet moment, Sansa asked her husband: “What do you think of Joffrey as future king?”

Sandor only answered: “I've already got enough nightmares about fire. No need to add other ones to my life. I'm counting on the winter fever.”

But Sansa didn't only find out about Prince Joffrey's sadistic nature; she also learned the story of Sandor's facial scars. It all happened during the last night before they arrived in King's Landing. They were already asleep when Sansa noticed her husband toss and turn and moan in his sleep.

It wasn't a moan that signalled enjoyment, that much Sansa could tell. No, Sandor's raspy voice was rife with horror.

So she patted her husband's shoulder.

He shot up in bed, snarled and bared his teeth. Had Sansa not had good reflexes and had winced, Sandor's fist would have hit her. As it was, she only felt the airflow of the movement.

“Sandor!” she exclaimed in shock.

The tall warrior came back to his senses.

“Sansa! Seven fucking hells! I'm so sorry. So sorry. I didn’t want to... I was thinking...”

“You were dreaming,” Sansa pointed out, and he nodded. “Who did you dream of?”

“My brother Gregor,” Sandor admitted. “He gave me these burns. Shoved my face into a brazier with hot coals during a stay at Clegane Keep. Gregor was already a squire when you visited Clegane Keep, so he wasn't there often. Which was a relief. But one day, he was staying at the keep for a short time.”

Sandor's eyes were overcast by memories only he could see.

“A smith was opening a new smithy in the area at that time, and he meant to leave a good impression. So he delivered weapons to the keep as presents. My brother got a long dagger while I – a boy – got a simple knife. I knew my brother wasn't interested in daggers anymore, because he already used to swing his sword at all times. So I took the dagger and had a look at it, curious as I was, though it gave me no true joy. My brother sneaked up at me from behind, and his reaction to me holding his weapon is history. It took no less than five men to get him off me. My father told the people I had stolen wine from the cellar, had got drunk, and had fallen into the fireplace. The maester gave me ointments. I say! – My brother got ointments, too: on the day he was knighted. You see, little bird, I shit on knights and their vows.”

Sansa swallowed hard and traced Sandor's lips with her fingers.

“You may have taken no vows – and yet, you're more of a knight than your brother could ever be.”

Sandor snorted, but didn't say anything to that. With no little relief, Sansa noticed that he had calmed down and was slowly becoming sleepy again.

“I'd be nothing without you, Sansa, do you know that? At least nothing more than the prince's dog.”

“Shh...,” Sansa murmured and kissed her husband.

Together, they went back to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next afternoon, they finally arrived on the outskirts of King's Landing. Sansa's eyes widened when she saw the sheer expanse of the city.

“Here we are,” she murmured to herself and looked at Lady, who was grinning at her, tongue lolling out. “I hope things will turn out well for us. Do you miss your siblings? I do miss mine. And my parents, too. But father will come here in about a year. What do you think – will we be able to reconcile?”

Lady yipped.

Sansa smiled.

“I like your optimism. Perhaps – when he sees how happy Sandor and I are together – he'll accept our union. And do you know what Sandor says?”

Lady's ears moved into her direction as if she were listening intently.

So Sansa went on: “Sandor says we'll need a baby girl at some point. He's of the opinion that girls know how to enchant their grandfathers.”

Lady uttered a little whine and Sansa nodded, grinning.

“You're right. Father would not be the only man who'd be enchanted.”

Sansa knew that she and Sandor would have a long way to go. There was so much she had to learn. To get accustomed to the new surroundings, for example. And she still had to become a woman in an intimate sense. But she wasn't afraid of that, in contrast to her husband. She'd trust Sandor with her life, and she was convinced that he'd never hurt her, passion notwithstanding.

“There's a lot he has to learn as well,” she thought. “But we'll be together in all of this. Together, we'll manage. For the beginning, I think I'll sew a new sigil for him, now that he's about to be made a lord. A hound, a bird and a burning heart in the middle. And our motto underneath: 'Love shall prevail'.”


End file.
